


The Anonymous Tip Job

by china_shop



Category: Leverage, White Collar
Genre: Crossover, Fic, Gen, Podfic Available, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was too nice a day to be cooped up in the car for long, and Neal knew from experience that if he loitered on the sidewalk, there was a good chance a timely piece of evidence—or a fleeing suspect—would come his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Anonymous Tip Job

**Author's Note:**

> Small spoiler for White Collar 2.05.
> 
> Many grateful thanks to labellementeuse and brynnmck for beta. Also available as a [podfic by Sophia_Sol](http://sophia-sol.livejournal.com/81911.html). \o/

"Wait in the car," said Peter as they pulled up outside the Leunig Building on Worth Street. The cordoned-off area was teeming with SWAT uniforms and black SUVs. "Once we've secured the sixth floor, you can come up and authenticate the sculptures, but I don't want you in there until we know it's safe."

After the near miss with Matheson's armed goons the previous day, Neal didn't argue. But it was too nice a day to be cooped up in the car for long, and Neal knew from experience that if he loitered on the sidewalk, there was a good chance a timely piece of evidence—or a fleeing suspect—would come his way. As soon as Peter and the others busted into the building, Neal got out and stretched his legs. There were still a few agents guarding the scene, so he kept clear of the cordon and went across the road to lounge against the Bank of New York instead, where he could keep an eye on things.

An attractive married couple walked past, heads bent close together, and Neal watched them walk away, admiring the man's easy stride and the elegance of the woman's neck. The man laughed at something his wife was saying, and Neal felt a pang. He missed that kind of comfortable—

A clatter of gunshots rang out across the street, followed by a shower of glass from halfway up the building. Oh _crap!_

Neal waited for a gap in the traffic and darted over to duck under the crime scene tape. A tall guy in an FBI windbreaker tried to stop him. "Excuse me, sir. I need you to stay outside the crime scene."

"You don't understand, I need to get in there." Neal barely looked at him. "Peter—"

"This is an FBI bust," said the guy, grabbing his arm to stop him. "You cannot be within the area. There's a reason that pretty yellow tape says 'DO NOT ENTER'."

Neal glanced up at him, distracted from worry. In all the busts he'd attended in the last six months, he'd never seen this guy before. And he definitely wasn't in the White Collar Crime division. Peter hadn't mentioned pulling in agents from other teams. Neal twisted his arm free and straightened his sleeves. "Who are you?"

The guy fixed him with a stern eye. "Hey, I ask the questions, okay, Mr.—"

"Halden," said Neal automatically. "Nick Halden."

The guy's suspicion was obvious. "Okay, Mr. Halden. I am Special Agent Brodie and this is not IMAX, know what I mean? It's a crime scene. Move along now. Nothing to see."

There was distant yelling from above, and a couple more shards of glass crashed down behind the guy, making them both flinch and reminding Neal of his purpose. Around them, agents were talking on radios, getting updates. The new probie, Carmine, was calling for paramedics. Neal looked up at Brodie. Maybe he was just new. "Is Peter Burke okay? Can you check?"

"Pete's fine," said Brodie, too quickly. He looked away and pressed the button on his radio. "I need a status update on the situation."

The radio hissed and crackled, and a fuzzy voice said something Neal couldn't catch. "Okay, well, hurry it up," said Brodie, and dropped the radio. "No casualties," he told Neal. "Pete's fine. Now I need you to vacate the scene before I have to arrest you."

Neal's suspicions solidified: if Brodie really were FBI, he'd recognize Peter's name. Neal nodded and turned to leave, stepping away casually.

Carmine wasn't freaking out, so the paramedics had to be for Matheson or one of his goons. Neal hoped so. Behind him, Brodie muttered, "Guys, what's taking so long? I got you in there. You just have to get the stuff and get out. That was the plan. It's pretty straightforward."

And Neal made a U-turn and came back around to face him. "I forgot something."

"You forgot something." Brodie seemed to grow a couple of inches. "I'm trying to do a job here, and you just forgot—"

"I thought maybe—" Neal shrugged and shot the guy a harmless grin. "Can I see your badge?"

Brodie huffed like he was trying to be officious but his heart wasn't in it. "Can you see my _badge_? Listen here, son, are you questioning my authority, because I can have you cuffed and booked before you can say—"

"I'll show you mine," offered Neal, pulling out his consultant's wallet and flipping it open.

Brodie glanced at it and scowled. "That's the way you want to play it? Fine! We'll play it that way." He drew out his own badge, flashing it and clearly about to stuff it back in his pocket. Neal managed to slide it from his grasp. Brodie tried to snatch it back, but Neal held it out of reach.

"Oh, hey," said Neal, examining it. "This is nice work. Someone's got an eye for detail." He glanced up, eyebrows raised. "You're not with Matheson?" He didn't think so—Brodie had more class than all of Matheson's goons put together—but he had to ask.

"That son of a toad-weasel? You seriously asking me that?" said Brodie scornfully, holding up his phone and semi-surreptitiously using it to take a photo of Neal. "You're seriously asking me that. No, not me. I'm one of the good guys. I'm telling you, man, I am not the droid you're looking for."

Neal believed him—or at least, believed he meant it. Especially when he got a closer look at the plastic BB gun in Brodie's shoulder holster: it was the same model Mozzie had given him for his courier uniform. Brodie was a good-looking guy, too. Shame about the circumstances, especially given Neal had developed something of a weakness for those blue FBI windbreakers over the last few months.

"Listen, I don't got time for this." Brodie grabbed his fake badge out of Neal's hand and started backing toward an SUV that was parked just beyond the crime scene tape. "I'm trying," he muttered. "Guy's following me like a heat-seeking missile in cufflinks."

From the way his eyes unfocused slightly when he said it, Neal was pretty sure he was wearing a wire.

Neal followed him, intrigued. "You know, I know these guys," he said, gesturing to the other agents. "One word from me and—" He kept it light, not too threatening. Even surrounded by Feds, he didn't want to corner the guy. "Just tell me what's going on, and I promise I won't—"

"What's going on is the son of a toad-weasel has something that belongs to a friend of mine, and we—" He bit off his sentence and grimaced. " _I_ am just trying to get it back."

Neal studied him. "It was you," he said, as the realization hit him. "You called in the anonymous tip." He gave Brodie a bright smile. "Got to hand it to you, that's a smart way to get around Matheson's state-of-the-art security system."

"Guy's got his offices tied down like the Federal Reserve," agreed Brodie. "That ain't right."

"So what's the thing he stole?" asked Neal. "You know we can't prosecute him for it if we don't find it in his possession."

Brodie's eyes widened as he realized how much he'd revealed. "It ain't nothing. Sentimental value. Listen, fine as it's been talking to y'all, I need to make—"

"Something sensitive, you mean?" asked Neal. That probably meant blackmail. Usually blackmail victims didn't think clearly enough to organize retrieving the goods before they ran out of cash or things got violent: this made a refreshing change.

Brodie dropped the last of his act. "It's all bullshit, man," he said, seriously. "There's a sweet little kid about to start grade school and her mom was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If things go down the can, they lose everything: I'm talking home, job, savings, family dog. I'm just lending a hand, you know what I mean?" He angled his head away slightly and frowned. "Hey, I know what I'm doing. You just focus on your end of things. Oh, is that so?"

He turned back to Neal and raised his eyebrows. "Neal Caffrey, huh? Nate Ford says to say hi. Something about a stolen Caravaggio—that mean anything to you?" Neal froze and forced a smile, and Brodie grinned. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Sends his condolences on your hardware, too."

"You're working with Ford?" Neal tried to keep the awe out of his voice. Nate Ford was more dangerous than Sara Ellis and almost as brilliant as Peter. Neal had had a couple of close calls with him over the years. "I heard he fell off the radar."

"Well, now, that all depends on whose radar you're tracking," drawled Brodie. He obviously knew he was in the clear now. And he was right: the last thing Neal needed was Nate Ford turning over rocks and working with Peter to recover any allegedly misappropriated artworks. Some things were better left forgotten.

Brodie looked past Neal and smiled. "Looks like we got what we came for."

Neal turned to see a tough-looking guy and an intense blonde woman, both with ponytails, both sporting FBI jackets and big smiles, heading their way. The tough guy was carrying a thick envelope. "Caffrey, right? Peter Burke's asking for you upstairs."

Neal nodded, reminded of the earlier firefight. "Everyone okay?"

"Two goons with holes in their shoulders," said the guy, carelessly enough that Neal might have thought he'd been the one to pull the trigger, except that his gun was plastic too. "And a seventh century Chinese sancai dish smashed to pieces—"

Neal winced.

"Yeah." The guy looked grim, and then shrugged. "The rest was all itchy trigger fingers and lousy aim."

" _The_ Neal Caffrey?" said the woman. "Did you really break into the—?"

"Hey," interrupted Brodie. "Come on, kids. We got to get going while the getting's good, and my man here has a pressing appointment with the FBI." He clapped Neal on the shoulder and gave him a gentle shove toward the front door of the Leunig Building.

"Man." The tough guy glared at Brodie. "How many times I got to tell you, you break cover for no one. No one. I don't care who he is." He started herding Brodie and the woman toward the SUV, grumbling as he went.

"Nice meeting you," said Neal, waving them off with his hat. He watched as they bundled into the vehicle, and then turned to see Diana striding toward him. Paramedics were strapping the wounded guys onto stretchers.

"Peter needs you upstairs," said Diana. Her eyes narrowed at something in his expression, and she looked past him at the departing SUV. "Who was that?"

"I think they were from the Baltimore office," said Neal vaguely. He gave her a grin and slipped past before she could ask any more questions. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it brilliantly—partly so he could share in the glory, partly to win an approving smile from Peter, but mostly as part of a strategy of making himself indispensible to the White Collar division. Just in case Brodie hadn't been bluffing, and there really was a chance of Nate Ford popping out of the woodwork. It paid to stay a step ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel: [Professional Contacts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/149982) (Neal Caffrey/Alec Hardison).


End file.
